Fertility Potion Mix Up

"Good news! I've got it all arranged," said my wife, patting me on the back.

"She agreed to do it?" I asked, sounding more enthusiastic than I'd meant to.

"She did. They'll be ready tomorrow. One for you and one for me."

"One for you?" I asked. I closed my laptop and spun around in my chair to face Emma. She was beaming.

"Well, technically for you," she said, sitting in my lap and wrapping her arms around me my neck. "You'll be the one drinking it."

"So now I'm drinking two potions?"

"It's a fertility potion, baby. A really good one."

"I don't know Em. Is that really necessary?"

"Is the good luck potion you asked for necessary? You're going to ace your interview anyway," she said, with a level of confidence I did not share.

"Of course it's not necessary. It's a placebo."

"If you really thought that, you wouldn't have asked me to make the call."

It was ridiculous. Magic wasn't real. Potions weren't real. I knew that. Logically, at least.... Logic couldn't explain Gary though.

I guess I should start with Moira first. Moira was Emma's best friend. They'd met just two years earlier when my wife had returned to college, but despite the large age difference (my wife was twenty-eight at the time, Moira was nineteen) they'd hit it off right away. One day they were in my kitchen studying for their psych class together, the next they were having girls' nights and planning road trips and doing all the normal things best friends do.

I liked Moira. She was a nice girl and Emma always had a great time hanging out with her. She was a witch. That was weird. Moira herself had told me she was one pretty early on in their friendship when I'd asked her about a new hexagram tattoo she was sporting. Honestly though I didn't really think much of it. Not until Moira started dating Gary.

Gary was a fuck-up. I knew Gary was a fuck-up because I worked with the guy. He was always late. He never completed projects on time. He rarely looked like he'd showered. Moira met him at a Halloween party Emma and I hosted, and they'd left together that night. That was six months ago. I could have spared Moira a shitty boyfriend if I'd just not invited my shitty coworker to that party, and I'd felt guilty about it ever since. She liked him though, and whenever I grumbled that Moira deserved better, Emma reminded me that Moira wasn't complaining.

Things turned around for Gary pretty quickly after they'd started dating. He still showed up late all the time. He still bungled projects. He was still basically shit. It just didn't seem to matter anymore. Over a six-month period he'd gone from being on the brink of termination to being promoted twice. I couldn't explain it.

That brings us to a couple of weeks ago, when we'd invited him and Moira over for a game night. At one point in the evening Emma went out back for some air (and a joint), and Moira decided she'd join her. I used that opportunity to get some answers.

"How'd you do it?" I asked him. "I've worked there seven years and I've never seen a rise like that."

"Magic," he said, and the bastard actually had the nerve to wink at me.

"Come on man. It's just you and me here. How'd you do it?"

"No, really," he said, dropping the shit-eating grin. "It was magic. You know Moira's a witch."

"Yea, a witch," I said. "She lights incense and shit. Wears black a lot. She's not casting spells."

"She kind of is," Gary said. "She makes potions."

"Potions?"

"Honest to god. I knew I was on the chopping block at work, but when the operations manager role came up, I applied anyway. I don't know why they granted me an interview, but I knew they'd never hire me for it. Night before, Moira gives me what she called a good luck potion. I woke up the next morning with a confidence I've never felt. I went into that interview sure I'd ace it, and as soon as I walked in I could tell the interviewers felt the same way. They asked me questions I'd never even considered. I BSed my way through it. If I could play back what I said, there's no way you'd think I should've gotten the job. They ate it up though! End of the interview they said they still had a few candidates left to interview, but it was just a formality. They wanted me for it. I couldn't believe it."

"I don't believe it now," I said.

"Then you explain it. How'd I get that job? How'd I get Senior Business OM four month later? You know Richards was up for the role. You think I deserved it more than Richards?"

"Of course not. You think that's why he quit?" I asked.

"Had to be. I feel bad, but I interviewed for it, same as everyone else. The only difference was I drank a little blue potion my girlfriend gave me the night before."

"No shit?" I asked.

"No shit."

"That explains a lot," I said, "and doesn't explain anything. Magic isn't real."

"I didn't think so either, but when you're dating a witch, you try witch shit. I kept an open mind. It worked for me."

"How's the new role going?"

"Not good. I'm not good at any of this. Moira says I can only take a good luck potion once a month. Something about probabilities shifting, the universe pushing back or some shit. I don't understand it. The magic won't work more than that though. I do a bad job every singly day. Potion days? I do a bad job, but everything goes my way. Deals get signed. Orders get approved. Everyone's impressed. Next day? They still remember being impressed, but I have to hold that good will over for the next 29 days of fucking up."

"Sounds stressful," I said.

"You're damn right it's stressful. I know it can't last," Gary said, sounding resigned. "I'm going to get myself fired."

"Or your source could run dry. Moira might leave you," I said flippantly.

"She might! I'm surprised she's stayed with me this long."

"Why's that?"

"Why do you think?" he asked, incredulous. "She can do fucking magic."

Now it was the night before my interview, and I hoped I could repeat Gary's success. I got off work a few hours later than I'd meant to, got in my car and headed to Moira's apartment. It felt weird driving there without Emma. Everything felt weird lately.

My wife wanted a baby. That was new. She'd always told me she didn't want a child; that she'd never want a child. I never knew how to feel about it, but I loved her, and I'd accepted being with her meant never being a father. Then Emma turned thirty and it was like an alarm rang out in her uterus. Plans changed.

I didn't mind a baby. Not in theory. I grew up assuming I'd have a kid of my own one day. I just didn't think we were ready for it. Emma was still finishing up school, and we were barely making ends meat on my salary. I knew it'd be hard to support a child, but Emma was so insistent. I didn't want to disappoint her.

We'd been trying for just over two months. I loved it at first. My sex drive had always been higher than Emma's, and now she was wanting it every night. After the first three weeks though, Emma still wasn't pregnant, and she started getting discouraged. We kept up the sex, but it wasn't working. I told her it was almost certainly because she'd been on birth control for so long, and the hormones just needed to leave her system. She understood that, but she was still worried one of us might have fertility issues, and was starting to panic that we'd never have a baby.

I was grateful for the delay financially, but I hated what it was doing to Emma emotionally. I couldn't control how fast she got pregnant, but I could prepare us for when it happened. I started applying for better paying jobs at my company, and it wasn't long before I was scheduled an interview for Operations Manager.

As soon as I'd gotten the interview, my mind jumped to Gary. I hated asking Emma to talk to Moira about it, but if there was any chance it was real, I had to try a potion. Our family's future depended on me getting that job.

So those were the thoughts swirling around my head as I drove to Moira's. A potion to relieve my anxiety about the job. A potion to relieve Emma's anxiety about the baby. If these worked, everything clicked into place. If they didn't, my life was already a wreck. Drinking a potion or two couldn't hurt anything.

I pulled into the apartment complex, walked up the stairs and rang Moira's doorbell.

"Hey David," she said warmly, opening the door and welcoming me in.

"Thank you for doing this," I said, stepping through the door.

"Of course! Anything for you guys."

I gave her living room a quick glance, taking in the pagan posters, dangling ankhs and various crystals I'd usually ignored.

"Gary here?" I asked.

"Of course not," she laughed.

"Of course not?"

"He doesn't live here you know. I wouldn't tell Gary anyway. I know you don't like him."

"I like him!" I said, a little too loud and a little too quickly.

Moira raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I don't always like working with him," I confessed. "He seems to make you happy though."

"He's alright," she said playfully. "Are you okay? You seem nervous."

"I'm just a little stressed," I said. "I really need to nail this interview."

"For the baby?" Moira asked.

"For the baby, and for Emma." I picked up what looked like a crystal ball from the counter and began examining it. "I just need to be making more."

"Well I can help with that," she said, smiling ruefully.

"That's what I hear."

"Follow me."

I set the crystal ball back where I'd found it, carefully, and accepted her outstretched hand. It was cold and soft and I liked the way it felt in my own. It seemed strangely sensual the way she walked me down the hallway to her kitchen. I think she was just being a bit playful to play up the magic stuff. She'd lit a lot of candles.

The kitchen was not at all what I'd remembered. The counters were covered in jars of various spices, liquids and what I assumed were preservatives. There must have been at least a hundred stacked on top of one-another. In the middle of the room was what looked like a very expensive chemistry set, which took up the bulk of the kitchen. On the ceiling was a pentagram, presumably made with red paint. There was a cauldron.

"You've made some changes." It'd been less than a year since I'd last been there with Emma, but the place was nearly unrecognizable. She clearly took this witch stuff a lot more seriously than I'd realized. "I'm not sure you're getting back your deposit."

"I've gotten really into potions."

"You don't say," I said, surveying the room. "This looks more like science than magic." My eyes fell back on the pentagram. "Mostly."

"It's both, kind of," she said. "It's magic, but it requires the precision of science."

"You're mixing ingredients together to form a new substance," I said. "That's science."

"It's alchemy. Without the magic, it's just goop. It's the rituals I perform and the power of my intent that infuses the potions with magic."

Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow.

"You want to see what I've got for you?" she asked.

"Please," I said, conscious of the fact she was doing me a favor.

Moira went to the chemistry set and picked up two glass bottles. They looked nearly identical, both halfway full with blue liquid, although one seemed to be pulsing phosphorescent every few seconds. She brought them over, careful not to jostle them, and set them both on the counter nearest me.

"Here you are. This one here," she said, pointing to the one that was glowing, "is your fertility potion."

"How's it work?" I asked.

"It's magic."

"I know," I laughed. "What's it do? Is it like magical Viagra?"

"Oh, it's much worse than that," she said, flashing a wicked grin. "Upon taking this potion, you will need to have sex immediately. Don't delay. Get right to it. It could be dangerous if you don't."

"What does that mean?"

"It means don't delay. Pop the cork, drink the contents, hop on top of Emma. Show her a good time. The potion will take it from there."

"What's the danger part?" I asked.

"Can you follow instructions?" Moira asked gravely.

"I can."

"Then there's no danger."

"What's the other potion do?" I asked, eager to move on from the topic of impregnating my wife.

"It gives you good luck," she said, lifting the bottle from the counter. "You drink it, roughly twelve hours later things start going your way. Twelve hours after that, you're back to whatever luck you'd normally have."

"How much do things start going my way?" I asked, skeptical but intrigued. "Should I be buying lottery tickets?"

"You could," she said, placing the potion back down beside the other. "The strength of the potion lies in the power of its creator and the strength of her intent. I'm pretty new to all this."

Moira certainly had a strength to her, or I guess you'd call it a presence. She was short and petite, but she had an air of confidence that let you know she could take care of herself. If there was power in magic, I could see her possessing it.

"I've seen what you did for Gary. Seemed pretty powerful to me."

"Gary already worked for your company. The odds of him finding success there may have been low..."

"Very low," I interrupted.

"May have been low," she reiterated, squinting her eyes, "but it is not extraordinary for an employee to find success at his job or for him to be good at it. You could buy a lottery ticket, and you could find yourself a millionaire overnight, but the odds for that to happen have to slide much more in your favor than they'd need to for you to have a good interview tomorrow."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"I think you'd get this job without the potion," Moira said kindly. "I can tell just by the way Gary talks about you that they respect you there."

"That's good to hear," I said, feeling a bit ashamed that I'd never spoken that well about Gary.

"You're going to be fine. Trust me, twelve hours from now you'll be as certain as I am."

Twelve hours...

"What time is it?" I asked, realization kicking in. Moira looked to a clock on the wall adorned with a triple moon, a heptagram and various symbols I didn't recognize.

"Eight PM," she said, understanding dawning on her as well. "When's your interview?"

"Eight-thirty AM. You said twelve hours-ish?"

"Drink."

I didn't hesitate. I checked that the bottle closest to me wasn't glowing, popped the cork and downed it. The glass was cool to the touch, but the elixir felt warm going down my throat. It tasted surprisingly good for something that probably contained at least a little eye of newt. I wiped my mouth and set down the empty potion. I looked back at Moira, expecting a smile. Instead she looked shocked, covering her mouth with both hands.

"What is it?" I asked, my anxiety spiking.

Moira lowered her hands to her chest.

"That," she said, pointing at the empty glass, "was the wrong bottle."

"No," I laughed. "The fertility one glows. It wasn't glowing."

"It pulsed," she said, past-tense. "Dim and bright, dim and bright. Look at the other bottle."

I did. No glow. No pulse.

"Fuck," she said, starting to pace. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"What's wrong?" I asked, worried by her reaction. "What's the big deal?"

"You need to have sex," she said, eyes on the floor, continuing to pace.

"Alright, I'll head home right now."

"No, you don't get it," she said, coming in close and grabbing my shirt. "You'd never make it. You need to have sex now."

"Or what?" I asked, feeling light-headed.

She let go of me and ran a finger across her throat. It'd be amusing under normal circumstances. These were not normal circumstances.

"What the fuck did you give me?" I asked, stepping back.

"Fertility potion," she said. "I told you! You needed to follow my instructions!"

"I was going to!" I yelled. "I didn't mean to drink it now!"

"Fuck...." she said again, hanging her head in resignation.

That's when I felt it kick in. My heart was beating pretty fast from the stress and anxiety already, but now it was pounding. At the same time my pants started feeling uncomfortably tight.

"I think something's happening," I said, leaning against the counter and clutching my chest.

"Like what?" Moira asked, concern evident on every inch of her face.

Her face... Moira was beautiful. I knew that of course, intellectually, but she was Emma's friend, and almost a decade my junior. She was the definition of off-limits. What a face it was though. Pink lips, pointy chin, little upturned nose, black hair with blue tips the color of her eyes... Those eyes... and were those freckles hidden under her makeup? I wondered why she hid those freckles. I'd very much like to see those freckles.

"David," she said, grabbing me firmly by the shoulders. "What are you feeling?"

I wanted to kiss her.

"I think," I said, stumbling to get the words out, "I think I need to go to the bathroom."

"That won't work," she said, clearly understanding more than I'd meant her to.

"Just give me a minute," I said, pushing clear of her and making my way down the hallway. I found the bathroom, entered, and managed to lock the door just before she reached it.

"You're not listening David," she said, raising her voice to be heard through the door. "You need to have sex."

I didn't disagree with her. My hard-on felt like it was going to burst through my jeans. I unzipped, only to find my cock had already freed itself from my boxers. I'd never felt this horny in my life. I held my cock over the sink and began rubbing, certain it'd take nothing for me to cum.

"Open up!" she yelled, banging on the door.

"Just... a minute..." I said, stroking furiously. I looked up from my dick and saw my reflection in the mirror. I was a wreck. Had I ever looked so desperate? Looking at myself I felt ashamed and embarrassed for what I was doing, but also just panicked about needing to cum. I could feel my heart rate increasing, but I wasn't getting any closer to finishing. If anything, stroking my cock was starting to become painful.

"I told you David, that potion wasn't Viagra. It doesn't just make you hard," she said, letting up on the banging long enough for me to hear her.

I was starting to understand what she meant. While stroking my dick had helped momentarily, it was now causing more pain than pleasure. It felt like touching my cock was burning me. I let go and the burning sensation dissipated, but the need to cum was as strong as ever.

"Hold on," she said, followed by the sound of metal scraping on metal. "I'm coming in."

I quickly shoved my dick back in my pants as the door opened. Moira entered, holding a flat-headed screwdriver.

"That was really stupid," she said. "You look like hell."

"I feel like hell." My vision was dimming, almost like the lights were slowly going out in the room.

"If we don't do this soon, you're going to have a heart attack."

So that's what I was feeling... I was going to have a heart attack.

I didn't want to die. I wanted to be a father. I wanted to provide for my wife. I wanted to cum. I needed to cum. I looked up at Moira, all concern and beauty and determination. What was she saying anyway? If we don't do what?

"David, let me help." She set the screwdriver on the counter and began walking towards me. Finally I understood what she meant.

"Moira, no, we can't," I said, putting my hands on her shoulders to block her approach.

"We have to," she said, stepping closer anyway.

"Emma will never forgive me," I said uselessly as Moira reached her hands into my fly.

"Do you think she'll forgive me if you die in my bathroom?"

Moira wrapped her hands around my cock. The pain I'd been feeling instantly soothed, and the light started returning to the room.

"We can't have sex. I just..." I paused for a moment, the pleasure I was feeling making it hard to speak. "I just need a little help."

"There isn't another choice," she said, looking me in the eyes as she stroked me. "This won't be enough."